


Comprehensive Preclinical Medicine and Advanced Fluid Mechanics

by valantha



Series: Hazy, Lazy, Crazy Academy Days [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Fluff, Gen, How Simmons learned all that medical knowledge, Pre-Series, Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Simmons just hanging out in lab, discussing what classes to take next term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comprehensive Preclinical Medicine and Advanced Fluid Mechanics

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a bit of fan-wank. As a PhD Molecular Biophysicist (basically biochemistry with methods stolen from physics) I find the amount of doctoring Simmons is expected to do a bit… ridiculous, thus a fan-wank explanation!  
> Agents of SHIELD is better than most shows, but does suffer from [Real Scientist vs. Movie Scientist](http://theupturnedmicroscope.com/comic/real-vs-movie-scientist/) syndrome.

“Fiiiiiiii-tz….” Simmons faux-whined across the lab. It was late and they each were working on their individual projects under the cold glow of fluorescent lighting, keeping each other company as per usual.

“Yeah?” Fitz asked, not bothering to look up from the quadcopter drone prototype he was fiddling with. He hadn’t managed to get the four motors to really synch up for perfect maneuverability. A large percentage of the Helicarrier’s computing power was spent controlling its movement – not that Fitz was supposed to know that, which was a different issue – but Fitz knew there _must_ be a more elegant method for dragonfly-like mobility.

“Are you listening, Fitz?” Simmons prodded.

Fitz rested his soldering iron and turned his whole attention to Simmons, despite the mucky bacteria she was messing with.

Seeing that she had his attention, Simmons inquired, “What classes do I want to take next term?”

If it had been any one of the other 6.9 billion people on the planet, Fitz would have responded with a terse ‘how the hell am I supposeda know?’ But this was Simmons. Since her second day at the academy – his fifth – they’d just meshed, and had been one another’s sounding boards for _almost_ everything. Fitz had put his foot down about fashion advice; he didn’t know what ecru _was_ let alone what it’d go with!

Fitz thought a moment or two, “What ‘bout that ‘medical school in three months’ course? You’ve mentioned it more ‘an once.”

“I don’t know, Fitz. It’s pretty intense. I wouldn’t have any time for my research, or working on our projects like the dendrotoxin project,” Simmons said.

“Aye, but you’d get to add more letters after yer name,” Fitz replied.

Jemma just chuckled.

In a more serious vein Fitz added, “Just think o’ yer mother, how happy she’d be to finally have a physician in the family.”

“True,” Simmons added somberly, “She was quite disappointed; especially after I did _so_ well on my A-levels and then decided to go into biochemistry not medicine.”

“You should do it. You’ll never know when medical knowledge might come in handy,” Fitz replied turning back to his prototype.

“Yeah, like when dealing with a condescending and block-headed GP,” Simmons muttered.

Fitz looked back up and declared, “I know! What is it about GPs? I swear the physician I had as a kid had no understanding of the simple thermodynamic underpinnings of the universe, and yet thought he knew everything! And then you could be all: ‘oh yeah, mister Dr.? I’ve got two PhDs _and_ a medical degree!’ Bam.”

Wheedling, Fitz added, “On the other hand, you could take that primate neuropsychology course and finally get me that monkey…”

“Fitz!” Jemma exclaimed and mimed throwing her culture flasks at him. Fitz had a thing for monkeys, Capuchin monkeys to be more precise. Fitz was absolutely in love with the idea of a little monkey minion, and all of Simmons’ rational issues such as the risk of zoonosis, the difficultly housetraining them, and their almost constant masturbation were brushed off or ignored.

Leo ducked, chuckling at the old point of contention.

Simmons allowed herself a bit of a smirk before querying, “What courses are you going to take next term?”

“Oh, you know, just workin’ on the aeronautical engineering track: Advanced Fluid Mechanics and either Chemical Propulsion M&C or Rarefield Gas Dynamics,” Fitz replied.

“Fluid Mechanics and Gas Dynamics? Do really want that much Professor Pullin?” Simmons pointed out the infamous professor.

Fitz grimaced, “Good point. Chemical Propulsion Materials & Computation it is then.”

They both turned back to their work, silent and productive for a quarter of an hour before Simmons broke the quiet once more, “Fitz, you won’t mind, will you?”

“Hmmm?”

“That I won’t have time to work on our projects next term?” Simmons asked.

Fitz looked up once more, “No, Jem. I know how much you like learnin’ new things, expanding yer knowledge an’ all. And ‘asides, what if a prototype of mine, or somesuch explodes and you can save me? That’d be right brill. But we’ll take Dr. Hall’s Chemical Kinetics course the term after next, together, right?”

Jemma smiled a bit, and then frowned, considering the possibility of Fitz getting hurt in a lab accident. Thinking about Fitz not being around anymore made her stomach drop two floors and chilled her extremities. He was her best friend. Her closest friend. She’d had classmates, acquaintances, online friends, but all were completely eclipsed by Fitz and how he just _got_ her. From their shared love of David Brin’s books, Yorkshire Gold, and computational modeling of enzymatic reactions, he got her.

Returning from her mental digression, Simmons replied, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

In her own morose, contemplative bubble, and the fog of bleach-stench, Jemma finished sterilizing her culture flasks, placing them on the dish cart to be washed.

On her way out the door she stopped at Fitz’ bench, “Hey, thanks.”

“Hmm?” Fitz mumbled distractedly; he might have just made a breakthrough vis-à-vis the avionics programing.

“Just, you know, thanks,” Simmons replied.

“Um, okay. Good night?” Fitz replied, still ‘in the zone’.

“Good night.”

It wasn’t until later, as he was cleaning up his soldering area, that Fitz thought back to Simmons’ odd 'Good night,' and wondered about the meaning behind the thanks. After a bit of thought he shrugged it off, she was just happy he’d helped her decide her course-load.


End file.
